Wyrd Son
by ClericalError
Summary: Maybe the insanity of the wizarding world isn't best countered with logic and rationality but by a more resilient sort of insanity. Alt Upbringing in which Harry ends up in the hands of the Wyrd Sisters and is excited to become the very best witch he can be.
1. Prologue

_Dear_

* * *

 _,_

 _It is with the deepest regrets that I must inform you that your beloved sister has passed. She gave her life to save that of her son, Harry, whom I have attached to this missive. Unfortunately, the Dark Wizard Voldemort, though he perished in attempting to kill young Harry, had many followers who are likely to target Harry as well as your family due to your association with him and his mother. As a result of the enchantment that your sister placed upon Harry, he and you will be safest if Harry stays in your home for the duration of his upbringing._

 _With all due consolation and well wishes,_

 _Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore,_

 _Order of Merlin First Class,_

 _Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,_

 _Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot,_

 _Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards_

"Hmph!" said Granny.

"Aw, he's a cute one. His hair is just like our Bobward's when he was this size," said Nanna.

"Who's this letter addressed to? The ink's all blotted," said Magrat.

"Typical work of a wizard. Can't write proper, and his signature takes up more room than the script!" exclaimed Granny.

"Oh, poor dear has a little scar on his forehead," said Nanny.

"It seems quite important that we know whose letter this is, given all that about vengeance and whatnot," reasoned Magrat.

"None of us has a sister 'sfar as I know," said Granny.

"Oh, he must mean Goodie Whemper-" said Nanny.

"Maysherestinpeace," said Granny.

"-maysherestinpeace," said Nanny.

"Didn't she die three years ago?" asked Magrat.

Granny frowned. "It was either three or seven. Twas the same season that plague swept through the kingdom that we all had to clean up."

"Do you mean the one with the toads hatching out of people's backs?" asked Magrat.

"No, no. The one where their ears started acrawlin' all o'er the place," clarified Granny.

"Oh right, that. Well, that was five years ago. That was why our Pete-Rick had trouble hearing me when I explained to him why he had to marry that strumpet. Their first baby is just six now. Twas my first great-great grandchild," said Nanny.

"Regardless," said Granny. She was a fan of the word 'regardless' since it let you neatly brush aside the need to admit you were wrong. "If she died three, five, or seven years ago, why'd the babe show up now?"

"Hmm…" Nanny considered while she continued to fuss over the child.

At that moment a hawk made a great cry as it dove for an unsuspecting hare, drawing the attention of the witches. It froze mid-dive, while the clueless rodent hopped leisurely into a nearby hole. A moment later the hawk unfroze and took a graceless tumble into the long grass. This sort of portent was quite commonplace in the Ramtops, but in this case was quite illuminating for the gathered witches.

"Oh," said Nanny, "that would do it."

"I've figured it out! It must be addressed to all of us!" exclaimed Magrat.

Granny and Nanny turned to Magrat.

"Well, the address is all blurred, but Goodie Whemper, maysherestinpeace, was a sister to all of us, as much to any one of us. It must mean that we're all to adopt him," she said.

"We have to keep this one?" asked Granny.

"Well, the letter isn't lying about the magic about the boy. I can feel it wrapped all around him," said Nanny.

"Oooh! We should do a ritual of adoption! Hm, we'll need a proper dagger, Goodie's-" said Magrat.

"Maysherestinpeace," chorused Granny and Nanny.

"Birthstone, some of her favorite herbs, oh and some crystals for good measure. Good ones, not those glorified salts!" exclaimed Magrat.

Granny and Nanny exchanged an uneasy glance.

"Perhaps it would be best if we each did the adoption in our own home, in our own way," suggested Nanny.

Magrat's enthused eyes remained undimmed while Granny fervently nodded.

"Right then, it's settled," said Nanny.

* * *

Harry was well tucked into his crib by one of the daughters-in-law. Nanny considered her adoption and blessing duties carefully over a large glass of wine. It took her to the end of the glass to realize the perfect blessing for an orphan. She quickly poured and second and raised it to the sleeping infant.

"May you never want for family, Harry Ogg," she declared solemnly and drained the glass in one go, as was appropriate when toasting and blessing.

Pleased with herself she poured another glass to celebrate.

* * *

Harry squirmed as he was placed in a circle of tiny runes. There were some that meant solitude, as he was an orphan, some that Magrat wasn't sure of, but looked like the bad sort, and they were all written as small as Magrat could make them, as Harry was just a little one. Various scents filled the air as herbs burned.

Magrat carefully picked Harry up, carried him through a crystal-bedecked hearth, and placed him in a chalk circle inside her home. This one decorated with crude drawings of houses and stick figure families.

"Bewelcomed into my home and my family, Harry Garlick. May you always get where you need to be. So mote it be!" proclaimed Magrat. It seemed he had a bit of trouble getting to them in the first place, so she thought it would do well to cancel that tendency out early.

* * *

Granny glared at the letter. It seemed to get even more offensive than it had been when she first read it, and that was saying quite a lot. Typical wizard behavior, foisting responsibility upon unsuspecting witches and leaving babies with naught but a note to their name.

"Hmmph!"

And this baby was magic too. No doubt he'd grow up and become a wizard and take on too many names and invent some ridiculous titles for himself and start throwing orphans hither and yon without a care.

Granny paused and smiled a smile as crooked as she could make it.

"May you never fall for any wizarding nonsense, Harry Weatherwax."

* * *

AN: Edited 6/2/18, mostly for line breaks and dialogue clarity. This fic will assume that you've read Harry Potter and Wyrd Sisters, though most of the action will take place in the HP world.


	2. Chapter 1: The Letter and the Bird

It was a quiet day on the Ramtops. The morning dew had coated the undergrowth punctually and consisted of nothing but water. The sun had risen from the expected place and provided light of the expected color. No note was out of place in the symphony of singing birds, chittering rodents, and roving foragers.

Harry could feel the tension mount, like a giant rubber band slowly being pulled back by all of this normality. It wasn't natural, and it would end soon.

Harry couldn't wait.

He looked in wonder at the sky. The precise shade of blue he found there was remarkable in how unremarkable it was. It was the kind of blue seen in skies the world over. Probably quite common in any number of worlds, really. An amorphous cloud drifted lazily over the sky. One could pretend it looked like any number of animals, but it was so abnormally normal that it didn't quite bear a close resemblance to any one in particular.

Harry scooted forward onto the edge of his seat, which happened to be the lowest step from the back porch.

A voice called out from within the house. It had to pass through a wall, a door, and what Harry considered to be a dew-heavy air, so while many might have clearly heard "Harry!" with a strong implication that said "Harry" ought to make his way towards the speaker immediately, Harry did not. Harry, being very much occupied in waiting for something to happen, had decided that he wasn't quite sure what or who it had been directed to. It could have been "Airy!" a loud statement about the weather in the cottage, probably to be followed with a closing of the windows. It could have been "Hairy!" when Granny had beheld a blanket that Grebo had sat on saw her own upper lip in a mirror.

Harry's judgment was a result of him occasionally being a most willful child. Him occasionally being a most willful child was a result of a miscalculation on Granny's part. Granny's usual strategy in life was always to get about her business in the way she saw fit and let everyone else get out of her way. She saw no cause to adapt this strategy when it came to child-rearing, and further reasoned that she could, at most, screw Harry up to a third up.

Given the fluid nature of a children's heads, and all contained therein, Granny thought that Harry would quickly learn to be obedient to her and stay well out of her way.

She was partially successful. He did stay out of her way and follow her instructions most of the time. However, he also seemed to learn the benefits of being a Weatherwaxian force of nature and seemed to have an uncanny sense for when he could get away with it.

So Harry didn't quite hear what Granny had said, and with a remarkable control of his own thoughts, chose not to find out. His honesty could be confirmed by whatever headology or witchcraft Granny chose to employ, and often had been.

It might be said that there was a certain irony to Granny being forced to deal with a reflection of her own traits. It wasn't though, for fear that Granny would hear.

The back door to the cottage slammed open.

"Harry Whemper-Ogg-Garlick-Weatherwax," said Granny, who was now confident that there could be no reasonable mishearing, misinterpretation, or misunderstanding, "get inside and do your chores now!"

Harry froze. He was pretty sure that there was no room for reasonable mishearing, misinterpretation, or misunderstanding. He was a hopeful child, though, so he ran through the wording a few times in his mind. Sure enough.

He was still sure that something positively marvelous was going to happen any moment. Maybe the trees would bend over, plant their tops in the ground, and do headstands (leaf stands?) forevermore (or until they got tired). Every moment he could keep his view unobstructed was precious, but Granny could not be disobeyed.

They had very different definitions of the word "now," but he was pushing even his own limits on that count.

So he began to turn toward the cottage, but slowly. And from the feet up. The balls of his feet pressed on the ground and pivoted to the side. He leaned back on his arms as his waisted turned with the movement. Finally, he rested on just one arm as his shoulders reluctantly turned.

He looked up at the very unimpressed face of Granny Weatherwax. You would think that 'unimpressed' would be an off or on type of thing, that there wouldn't much gradation. You might be right if you never met Granny Weatherwax.

However, just as she was about to give voice to how very unimpressed she was, her eyes shifted to looking just behind Harry where they beheld a most marvelous explosion. By the time Harry turned around, which could be described as the smallest meaningful fraction of a second, there was no fire, and only three items remained. A pile of what looked like ash, a tiny bird, and an envelope addressed with green ink.

"Oh no," said Granny. "Not this time. I don't care who died or whose baby bird needs a home, I'm not going to be the one stuck with it."

The back door slammed shut while Harry hurried towards his long-awaited prize. The bird looked like a chick, but not quite. When Harry picked it up he noticed it was quite a bit warmer than is usually healthy for birds. Harry shrugged it off as the aftermath of the explosion and tucked the bird into a pocket that it should stick its head out of. After considering the ash and its undoubtedly magical origin he pocketed that as well, thinking that another mother of his might put it to use in a ritual of some sort.

He finally considered the envelope. He gingerly grasped it and held it at arm's length in front of him and squinted. Harry suffered from an unfortunate combination of farsightedness and lack of standardized education. These factors conspired against him in a plot to overthrow his literacy, which very nearly succeeded. As it was Harry was able to make out that the envelope had something very near to his name written on it. He knew that the rest would just be the address and it was safe to ignore.

Opening it up, Harry read the following letter:

"HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore  
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,  
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter-Ogg-Garlick-Weatherwax,  
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.  
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.  
Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall  
Deputy Headmistress"

Well, that might be a bit generous. He waded through for several minutes, making it all the way through the headmaster's various titles and feeling quite proud that he was able to puzzle out what all of the abbreviations stood for. At this point, he got rather bored and decided to take it on faith that Granny was right, which she usually was. This was likely entreating him to take care of the baby not-chicken, and was, in fact, addressed to him. Gently patting the pocket that contained said fowl, Harry nodded in assent to the unspoken, but almost certainly written, charge to adopt the poor creature.

He then hurried to start on his chores before Granny thought to come after him again.

Months passed and it was life as unusual in the Ramtops, with the addition of a small bird slowly being shifted from Harry's smallest to largest pocket, and giving ample cause for Granny to triple how often he was required to wash his clothes. Despite asking Granny, Harry still had no clue what type of bird it was. The conversation was far from useless, as she had inspired Harry to come up with a name for the bird and also advised against telling his other moms about his familiar, which was apparently what witches called their pets. Except a witch could only have one familiar at a time for some reason. Momma Magrat was apparently so dedicated to this rule that she had gone through dozens of familiars and never had their lifespans overlap. That apparently was related to the reason that Granny said that Harry shouldn't talk to Magrat about familiars, but who knew how. With Nanny, Granny had said it was more that she was afraid of what Grebo, Nanny's familiar, might do to the bird since he was a 'creature of vice.' That phrase was supposed to explain everything, but Granny was in an advice-giving mood, not a question-answering one. It was very important to keep Granny's moods in mind.

So it was that during the next coven meeting, which Harry wasn't 'old or witchy' enough to attend, Harry set the almost fully grown bird aloft. He leaned back against, but carefully avoided looking at, the standing stone. He was pleasantly surprised to be relieved of his boredom as his bird trailed bright embers and flew entertaining loops through the night sky.

After a particularly impressive bit of aerial acrobatics, it burst fully into flames, drawing the attention of the three older witches. It then dove straight for Harry and they witnessed both boy and bird disappearing in a marvelous explosion.

Nanny and Magrat stared mutely.

"Oh, it's a phoenix," muttered Granny. "Well, that explains it."

AN: If it's not obvious, I'm presuming a passing knowledge of both Wyrd Sisters and Harry Potter. I imagine that future chapters will have fewer direct references to Pratchett's running gags and will focus more on Harry and his shenanigans at Hogwarts.

Feel free to let me know what you think of the chapter. When writing humor it can be difficult to know if the jokes will land with the audience or not. A lot of the humor was in the telling and not the showing, and was also contained in run-on sentences, so hopefully that didn't detract from it too much.


	3. Chapter 2: Wizards and the Infirm

Harry found himself in a large seat in a strange room with a bearded man staring at him while sitting on the other side of a desk. Fortunately, Harry was relieved by the sudden absence of any boredom whatsoever, as it had not yet been replaced by terror of the unknown.

"Mr. Potter, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," said the man. His long, white beard moved almost hypnotically as he spoke. Perhaps this distraction is what led to him making the wrong leap of logic.

"Wossname?" he asked, pointing to the once again hatchling not-chicken that was now peeking out from his front shirt pocket.

"Fawkes," the man replied.

"No, it's a bird," said Harry.

"Yes, a phoenix, in fact," said the man.

"What? No. That's just a type of fox," said Harry.

"No, there is only one Fawkes," said the man with the patience of a man teaching an infant. "He is one of a species called phoenix."

There was obviously some sort of language barrier here. Harry felt it best to return to first principles of pointing and naming.

"Wossname," he said, pointing at the bird.

"Fawkes," said the man.

"No." Harry hung his head.

Perhaps he could meet the man halfway.

"Mr. Potter," said Harry, pointing again at the bird.

"No, Fawkes is mine," said the man.

"Not fox," said Harry mustering the sort of patience children had to employ when dealing with the determined lack of understanding that inevitably comes with age. "Wossname."

The man leaned back and his wrinkles shifted in puzzlement.

"I'm afraid," Afraid began, "there has been a misunderstanding."

"I'm Harry," said Harry, for some manners were ingrained into him from a young age. He glanced around in exasperation, noticing the contents of the room for the first time. There were trinkets, scrolls, and books aplenty. What caught his eye, however, was a corner that held a small bowl of food, another for water, and some sort of stand. All were covered in months' worth of dust.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Harry said.

"Thank you?" Afraid intoned. Whatever manners he started life with seemed to be wearing off.

"Regardless," Afraid continued, "it is my pleasure to welcome you to Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts?" asked Harry. The name sounded vaguely familiar.

Afraid frowned.

"Did you receive your acceptance letter?" he asked. "I sent it with Fawkes."

"I never got a letter from a fox," said Harry.

Afraid sighed heavily for some reason.

"Hogwarts is a school of magic, to which you have been accepted," he said.

"A school of magic?!" said Harry.

"Yes, indeed," Afraid said with a mad twinkle in his eyes. "Magic, you will find, is quite real and that is what we practice here at Hogwarts."

"What," said Harry. "Of course magic is real, but a _school_ for magic, that sounds like something…"

At this moment several more things intruded on Harry's attention. Things that he might have noticed sooner if he had come into this situation in a less explosive manner. The tall pointed hat and gaudy robes that Afraid wore. Words like 'alchemy,' 'potions,' and 'charms' that appeared along the spines of books. The gnarled wand Afraid wove about and the tray of tea that appeared on his desk from thin air.

"...wizards would do," Harry finished in a whisper.

All that Harry knew of wizards came from one of Granny's rants that had cost him most of a Saturday.

It was enough.

Still, it wouldn't do to go assuming things. It'd be best to seek confirmation without tipping the wizard off.

"The room we're in," Harry began, "is it in a tower?"

Afraid nodded.

"At the very top?" Harry asked.

Afraid nodded again.

"Attached to a castle?" Harry asked.

With Afraid's last nod Harry put his head in his hands and thought furiously. None of his moms would be afraid about being a captive in some wizard's tower. Then again, they were full witches. He was just an aspiring witch. He knew all the stories of what they'd accomplished, but had only the faintest inkling of how to do it.

With a start he recalled what Momma Magrat had done in the castle and what Granny said she would have done in her place. Well, it wasn't likely that he could get one to work so he decided to try both at once.

He deftly slipped a foot out of a shoe and pressed it against the stone floor. He also placed a hand on Afraid's large wooden desk in what he thought was a casual manner. It rather gave the impression that he had a misshapen spine, but all the same accomplished the goal of distracting from his hasty attempt at witchcraft.

The wood was a wasted effort. Despite being large for a desk it was too small and too close for Harry to connect at all.

"Would you like to visit the infirmary, Mr. Potter?" Afraid asked.

"Wossname," Harry corrected, his thoughts far away. To be more accurate, they were about a quarter mile away all around and mostly down from there. It a feat of headology far beyond what he ought to be capable of Harry had made a connection to the castle. He was more than a bit surprised at what he found.

It being a castle he was expecting recent memories of bloodshed, a grudging acceptance of cycles of assassination, and a close acquaintance with torture. There was a hint of all that in the background, but the predominant feeling was what he got from Momma Magrat when she taught him all about her favorite rituals and potions. It felt warm, protective, and nurturing. Those were as specific as Harry could make, as the castle didn't think as small, as precise, or as fast as a human would. As he withdrew from the connection, though, Harry did get the impression of the castle turning its ponderous mind in his direction and giving a shy wave.

When he opened his eyes he found himself in a bed with all white sheets in a room with a white ceiling. He sat up gingerly since his head ached and glanced around at white walls, windows with white curtains, and the resident of the next bed over, wrapped in white bandages. It was hunched over a book and Harry noticed tufts of brown making a desperate attempt to escape the confines of the white gauze. The overall effect was of a mummified werewolf, but child-size.

"Er, hello?" Harry said. He wasn't sure if it was wise to draw the creature's attention, but this room had immediately put him into the kind of boredom that it normally took hours to work up to.

The creature gave a start before slowly turning its head bandages in a way that Harry assumed let it look at him.

"Oh, you're awake!" A girl's voice exclaimed from the mummified werewolf head.

"Yes, I am," said Harry. "At least I think I am. I've never been in a room this white and boring before, so it wouldn't surprise me if this is a dream."

"You really think so?" she asked. "Well, this is just the infirmary, and it's just infirmaries look like, as far as I know. I do suppose that it would look quite unusual if one had never seen one before."

"Er-" said Harry, "sorry to interrupt, but what is an infirmary?"

"Oh," the werewolf mummy seemed to have lost steam for a moment but was merely changing tracks.

"An infirmary is where you go when you're sick, injured, or otherwise 'infirm.' Its decor may seem a tad unusual to you because it is a high priority for it to be sterile," she said.

"Like a mule?" Harry asked. "Wait, if that's right then why aren't all mules white?"

There was a lengthy pause.

"Well, in a manner of speaking, yes, quite like a mule in principle, but what that principle is applied to makes the matter much different. That, in turn, changes how the concept and practice of sterility are thought of and done with respect to husbandry and modern medicine" she said with the naive belief that she would be understood.

"Oh," said Harry. He quickly decided to change topics lest he become more acquainted with exactly how and why infirmaries were exactly as boring as they were.

"So are you, er, infirm then?" he asked. She didn't look sick or injured, though he had never studied pediatric lupine egyptology.

There was another lengthy pause.

"Sorry," said Harry, "I don't mean to pry if it's personal or something like that."

"Oh no, it's not that," she said. "I just thought that my injuries were quite obvious. I also imagine

The rumors must be flying around about what's happened. You see I was attacked by a troll. It was rather frightening, and I must consider myself lucky to have been rescued by Professor Dumbledore as soon as I was."

"Dumbledore? That name sounds familiar," said Harry. "Oh, and I'm glad you made it out alright. It'd be terrible for someone as special as you to have been killed by a troll."

There was yet another lengthy pause, but Harry was unaware of why this one was different. Recovering remarkably, Harry's neighbor neatly avoided the phrase that she didn't know what to do with.

"Well, I should hope you've heard of Professor Dumbledore, he's only the headmaster of Hogwarts, the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards-"

"Oh, the Warlock Chef?" asked Harry. He was quite excited to meet him since he had never heard of a wizard who specialized in cooking. Anyone who dedicated their life to food couldn't be all bad, wizard or not.

"You do mean Chief Warlock, don't you?" she stated.

"Oh yes," Harry said. "Definitely."

"Well anyway, you can't miss him. He always wears a tall wizard's hat, he is quite tall himself and has very long and distinguished white beard that goes all the way past his belt. He also seems to have a, er, singular taste in robes."

"Him?" Harry asked. "I met him last night. I thought he was Afraid."

"Whatever would he be afraid of?" she asked.

"Well, I guess he would be Afraid of the Tower, possibly Afraid of the Whole Castle. He's undoubtedly Afraid of that One Troll. Well, he's very old, so he's probably Afraid of Innumerable Trolls Encountered Throughout His Life. That as a nice ring to it."

"Hm." The young moon-cursed relic of ancient Egypt sounded thoughtful. "I suppose you have a point. It's not the absence of fear that makes bravery but confronting it. Professor Dumbledore undoubtedly fears trolls precisely the right amount to deal with them properly. And I guess that the castle and the management of the school is a great responsibility. He would be right to fear mishandling that in any way.

"What brought you into the infirmary, by the way? You don't seem too sick or injured."

"Um," said Harry. What had brought him in here? He recalled what he was attempting to do before he woke up here and immediately checked himself over for burns, but found none.

"I thought I might have injured myself by turning the castle into lava, but that doesn't seem to be the case. Perhaps I'm supernaturally resistant to heat. I do have an awful headache, though. I also don't have any memory of being brought here."

Some more things clicked into place. Harry patted himself down, checking all his many pockets and a few promising lumps of his blanket.

"Wossname!" he said.

"Oh, sorry, I'm Hermione Granger," she said. "I can't believe we haven't introduced ourselves yet."

"Oh, yes, I'm Harry Whemper-Garlic-Ogg-Weatherwax, but that's hardly the point. Wossname is missing!"

"Wossname?" asked Hermione.

"Exactly!" said Harry. In a feat of will normally reserved for new parents, Harry ignored his headache and fatigue and rushed off to take care of his ward.

AN: In case you didn't know, Fennec Foxes are a thing. Also, I feel like this chapter is starting to get where the fic is going: hijinks and misunderstandings with all the HP cast at Hogwarts. I have no intention of retreading canon, btw, so you shouldn't worry about that.


	4. Chapter 3: Towerous, adj, in a Tower

Harry raced through the corridors, going up any stairs that he came across. He was confident that this would him to back to Afraid's wizard-tower. His confidence lasted him 4 staircases and going past the same painting twice, despite not making any turns. He was just considering taking a break to regain his bearings when a figure rounded a corner in front of him. Before he knew what was happening Harry found himself bouncing off of the unknown and onto his behind. He squinted through the dark, but it didn't work, so he scooted back some and squinted again.

Before him was a tall witch. Her pointed and blessedly brimmed hat gave her away.

"Blimey," she said. "Wait, are you Harry Potter?!"

"What? No," he said. "Do you happen to know the way to the tower?"

"Which tower?" she asked.

"No, this one had a wizard in it," he said.

"What," she said, "oh whatever. Can you describe the tower in more detail? This castle has loads of towers."

"Loads of towers," he repeated. "Black Alice's pointy hat, how many wizards live in this castle?"

"I dunno, a hundred?" she replied.

"Oh, that's why you're sneaking around late at night. It's because there's so many wizards around here!" Harry concluded.

"Well," she began in a different tone of voice "those facts aren't exactly unrelated."

"The tower I'm looking for was very tall, possibly the tallest one here," he said.

"The astronomy tower? I didn't see anyone el- er- that is I don't think that's the one you're looking for," she said.

"Ok," Harry said. "This one has a room with a big desk at the very top. With lots of books. It has a really sad corner with food and water for a dead fox. The dead fox isn't there, thankfully, but its owner is, and thinks my bird is his fox. Oh, and there may be a giant hole in the floor where the rocks turned back into lava. And in the floor beneath that, there's probably a pool of slowly cooling lava.

"Do you know which tower I need to go to yet?"

"Um." She stepped closer and put a hand on his shoulder. "Maybe we should get you to the infirmary."

"I don't think that's right," he said. "I was just there and I really think I would have noticed if it was the same room I was in before that."

"Right," she said, "all the same, let's get you-"

"Ah Nymphadora, I see you have found our wayward wizard," Afraid said as he rounded a corner.

"You!" said Harry.

"Wait a moment," said the witch. "Professor Dumbledore is the wizard in the tower with the dead fox who stole your bird?"

"Yes, that's what I said," said Harry. "And he's Afraid."

"Oh dear," said Afraid. "That does cast some light on our previous conversation."

"It doesn't shed light on what you've done with my bird!" declared Harry.

"Is this for real?" said the witch, but it wasn't clear whom she was addressing. Perhaps that was for the best as no one listened to her.

"I think it may be better to continue this conversation in my office," said Afraid.

Harry gave him a look a fly gives a spider when welcomed to its parlor. After a moment he resolved himself and jumped up to hug a very confused witch.

"Don't worry about me. I'll keep him busy as long as I can. Send help!" Harry whispered into her ear.

"Uh…" the witch began.

"Wonderful," said Afraid. "Now I think it is quite past time for you to be in your dormitory, Nymphadora."

She glanced at Harry and the wizard, and back again. She left.

"Shall we?" asked Afraid.

"I guess we shall, wizard," said Harry.

It was a tense walk to the wizard's towerous lair, with each suspecting a sudden attack from the other. Afraid, being a wizard, of course sought to deny this obvious reality by whistling a nonchalant tune as they walked. Doubtless, he was attempting to put Harry off his guard, or perhaps to magic away his memory of Wossname.

Eventually, they made their way past a stone guardian, an enchanted staircase, and a heavy wooden door. Harry hoped that these defenses wouldn't slow down the rescue team that the witch was no doubt assembling.

As he sat back into the seat he was in before he poked at the ground with his foot. It seemed quite solid. Either Afraid was excellent at magical repair or he had actually failed at melting the stone.

He chose to believe that Afraid was excellent at magical repair. It wouldn't do to underestimate one's enemies.

Afraid went by the perch at the back of his office and collected Wossname, whom he deposited on the large desk separating him from Harry.

"This is a bird called a phoenix. 'Phoenix' is the name of the species, which can also be called 'fire-bird' for obvious reasons. I have named him 'Fawkes,' which, although a homophone of the vulpine genus, is spelled quite differently. He is my familiar," said Afraid.

"You just can't do stuff like this. You can't just kidnap my bird from his home, where he was happy, say his name is different than he thought it was, and act like he was your bird all along. I know you're a wizard and like being evil and all that, but there are limits," said Harry.

At this Wossname let out a mournful cry, and Afraid grimaced.

"I see," said Afraid. "Perhaps we should set aside the matter of Faw-, hm, the bird."

He pulled out a drawer and shuffled through its contents before pulling out a piece of parchment. He laid it on the desk and pushed it towards Harry.

"Did you receive this letter?" he asked.

Harry looked it over. He hadn't received many letters in his life, so it was easy to recognize the shape of the one he had gotten a few months ago.

Harry nodded.

"I see," Afraid said. He stroked his beard for a moment. "Did you read it?"

"Well," said Harry, "I read most of it. I got through all the bits about the Sorcerer Chef, which seemed like the important bit, being at the top and all. Then Granny said that was the same meddling wizard that sent a letter with me as a baby asking her and the rest to take care of me. And, well, given that this letter came with a baby bird, it seemed natural that the letter was asking me to adopt it. Granny said that was it, and she's almost always right."

"Ah," said Afraid, "a reasonable assumption. In this case, however, it was quite wrong. Would you be so kind as to read the letter now?"

Harry grudgingly reached for the letter and held it as far from his face as he could. He tilted his head just a bit to the side and squinted.

"De-are mer Potter- Ogg-Garlick-Whee- at-her-wax-"

"I think I am beginning to see the problem," said Afraid. "The letter, if I may summarize it for you, is an invitation to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The campus is this castle and the surrounding grounds. I am the headmaster and you may address me as Professor Dumbledore."

"You're Afraid," said Harry. Afraid seemed startled at the assertion. "You brought me to this school of yours when I didn't even accept it. Don't deny it when it's your office in your tower I showed up in, wizard. What if I don't want to attend your school or play whatever game this is?"

"Despite the manner of your arrival, I have no wish to coerce you, Harry," said Afraid. "I can assure you that Hogwarts is the very best institution of magic for a young wizard such as yourself."

"I'm no wizard," said Harry with venom.

Afraid cocked his head. "Indeed? What, then, do you suppose yourself to be?"

It occurred to Harry that it might be better if the wizard in whose power he found himself did not learn that he was, in fact, a witch. In retrospect he could see that he had not any of the traditional markers, like a wide brimmed pointy hat, a broomstick, warts, irregularly colored skin, or any real magical skill. He saw that it was unfortunate that he had missed the opportunity to say nothing and let Afraid assume he was a wizard.

Thankfully he thought of a cunning ruse that wouldn't require him to lie outright.

"I'd rather not say," he said.

It was true.

"I see," said Afraid. "Well, Harry, perhaps it would be best if we got you back to your bed in the infirmary, as the hour is quite late. We can discuss this further tomorrow and see if we can come to an understanding.

And so Afraid guided Harry back to the bed he awoke in a short time ago. His friend, the mummified werewolf who had been injured by the troll, which itself had been dispatched by the headmaster, who appeared to be afraid, was sound asleep with a book open in her lap and a candle burning on the table next to her bed.

Despite the potential risk of sleeping next to such a dangerous creature, friend or not, Harry fell asleep immediately. He had the strangest, but most comforting of dreams.

The headmaster penned a letter in fluid, looping strokes.

"There are times when I which you could speak, Fawkes," he said to the disputed bird perched in his office. It was asleep.

"Doubtlessly, you could shed some light on this situation with young Harry," the wizard continued. "Nevertheless, I believe that I have puzzled it out, despite the befuddling nature of the clues. How could he be unsurprised by magic, and yet be ignorant of Hogwarts? Why would he be willing to twist everything that I say, but never quite stray from my exact words, nor dare to lie? Whence comes his clear antipathy for all wizards?"

He signed the letter with a flourish, rolled it up, and sealed it. He extended it for Fawkes to carry. When Fawkes failed to respond he used the letter as a prod to wake the bird up.

It squawked indignantly.

"Carry this to Mr. Weasley with all haste, dear friend," said the wizard.

Fawkes squawked again, this time impatiently.

The headmaster felt around for, found, then donned his half-moon glasses.

"Oh, right, you did just have a burning. How silly of me," he said.

He then made the long trek down his tower and up into the owlery tower where several fully grown birds were more than ready to post.


	5. Chapter 4: Perchance to Dream

Harry sat forward in his all-white bed. The rest of the room had been replaced with a glassy sphere just large enough to contain his bed.

A giant distorted face peered at him from the foot of the bed.

"Is this thing on?" asked the voice of Nanny.

"Lemme see that," said Granny's voice

The face shrank into a single point and vanished as another replaced it.

"I think I see him," said Granny. "He's stuck to some long white thing though."

"Mums!" said Harry. He jumped to grab onto Granny's now giant nose, but thudded against the glass ineffectually.

"Ow!"

"Oh, he can hear us!" said Magrat. "Harry, dear, where are you?"

"Oh, it's awful! Some wizard kidnapped me and stole my bird! He took me to his wizard's tower in his wizard's castle and the castle has lots of towers, and probably lots of wizards, and a few witches, which is weird, and people keep thinking my last name is 'Potter' and the wizard keeps sticking me in the 'infirmary' which is probably in a tower, and I'm next to this werewolf-mummy, who's actually quite nice, though I'm still not sure if she'll try to eat me. Or infect me. Or embalm me. I don't know."

There was a moment of silence.

"Right, that's all good to know, Harry," said Nanny Ogg. "Do you happen to know the name of the castle, or where it is?"

"Oh," said Harry. "I think the castle is called 'Hagwarts,' which is strange, because I've only seen one witch, and she didn't have any warts at all." Harry thought hard about any other information that might help. "Oh! And the wizard that kidnapped me, he said that he was the one that sent me the letter with the bird, and that it was actually his fox, and that the letter was about Hagwarts and it being a school for wizards. Oh, he also seemed to think I was a wizard. I was offended, naturally, so I told him I wasn't, but then he asked what I was, and I was afraid what a wizard would do to a witch in training like me, but Granny said I shouldn't lie, so I just didn't tell him anything.

"Is that ok?"

"That's just fine, dear," said Nanny. "Everything is going to work out just fine, your mums will make sure of it.

"In the meantime, I'm going to have a bit of a talk with your Granny here. Magrat, be a dear and talk to Harry for a bit, will you?"

"She's right, you know?" said Magrat. "We'll see to this whole… situation, and make sure it all ends up all right."

" _... nonsense you've been filling his head with…"_ a muffled voice shouted.

"Um!" said Magrat loudly. "Oh ,your hair's such a mess. I think your brush is around here somewhere. Ah, here it is! Hmm, I saw Granny do this once."

" _...where is this thrice-damned letter?!"_

Giant eyebrows furrowed and Harry felt bristles impact against his head and catch on his hair.

"Ow!"

"Oh, sorry Harry!" said Magrat. "Come to think of it, hitting the target on the head might be a part of the spell."

" _...trusting him to read the letter, what an idea!"_

"'Salright," said Harry. He gripped the brush with both hands and began to pull. He made some progress, but the brush's movement could probably only be accurately measured by geologists.

" _This could all have been avoided if you'd just…"_

"HMMMMMMM…" Magrat filled the air with noise while she thought. "Oh! Harry, You should know that you can lie sometimes. Remember how we all got into the castle of Lancre?"

" _...farsightedness is not a gift!"_

"You all said you were apple-sellers, right?" asked Harry.

" _Are you quite done yet?"_

"Yes, that's what we said," said Magrat, "but none of us had ever sold any apples. We didn't plan on selling apples. None of us even had any apples with us.

" _...it needed a good letting out."_

"It was a lie, but sometimes witches need to have a disguise."

" _Ah! Here's the blasted thing!"_

"Oh," said Harry. "So I don't need to be worried about people thinking I'm a witch, or about lying by telling them I'm something else that I'm really not."

" _See! The same damned wizard!"_

"Exactly, Harry," said Magrat. "I'm sure that you'll do just fine, and that no one will even suspect that you're really a witch."

" _... all very strange, but in some sort of order."_

"Thanks, mum," said Harry. "I think I know what to do now."

"Alright," said Nanny, "we think we know what to do now.

"Harry, stay put at this wizard-school and try to find out where in the Disc it is, 'cause we've never heard of it."

Granny frowned at the implication that her knowledge was less than perfect and comprehensive. She grimaced at her inability to dispute that implication. She scowled at the truth behind it. The effect of all three unpleasant expressions cohabitating on her face is best left to the imagination.

"We'll make sure that someone always keeps an eye on the crystal ball. Just grab our attention if you need anything, dear," said Nanny.

"Um," said Harry. "How should I do that?"

"Ooh! You should burn some white sage," said Magrat. "That always grabs my attention, and it's such a good smell too!"

"Or he could just holler," muttered Granny.

"In the meantime," said Nanny, "we'll ask some questions around here. You just stay put, stay out of trouble, and maybe you'll even learn some magic."

"Nanny," said Harry, "you said 'stay p-"

"It bore repeating," said Nanny in a tone that Harry had learned not to argue with.

"Yes, Nanny," said Harry.

"Alright then, goodnight, little one," said Nanny. "Get to sleep!"

"But I'm already asleep!" said Harry.

"Hmph!" was all the answer Harry got as the distortion around his bed cleared leaving him and his bed as the occupants of his dream world.

He then tried to figure out how to go to sleep when he was already in a dream.

Harry woke with a smile, despite not remembering if he managed to double sleep.

"Excuse me, Mr. -" the man at the foot of Harry's bed glanced between the parchment he was holding and Harry's forehead, "-Potter, can I ask you a few questions?"

He was wearing robes. They were a dark red, instead of the gaudy mess of colors Afraid had worn. There was a holster on his belt which contained a wand.

"No," said Harry.

"No?" said the man.

"Yes," said Harry.

"Oh," said the man, "ok then. Could you please state your name for the record, Mr. Potter?"

Harry thought for a moment.

"I think it'd be a contradiction if I did," said Harry. "And I said no."

"Oh, I thought you said yes afterward," said the man. "Can you tell me why you won't answer my questions?"

"I only said yes to my no," said Harry. "But I really ha-, um, have an extreme dis-, er, I don't feel comfortable around wizards."

"Oh," said the man and kneeled on the floor. "That's perfectly understandable, given the circumstances. If I send over my partner, she's a witch, mind, do you think you could talk with her?"

Harry nodded and the man took slow measured steps away from him.

Harry was soon joined by the promised witch, who was wearing matching red robes. She sat lightly on the edge of his bed.

"Hello, I'm Marlene, and I work as an Auror. What can I call you?"

"I'm Harry," said Harry.

"It's nice to meet you, Harry," said Marlene. "Now, we're here because we heard that you had been kidnapped. Is that true?"

Harry nodded. Marlene smiled gently and tentatively patted him on the knee.

"It's ok dear, you're safe now. Now who is it that took you away from your home?" she asked.

Harry furrowed his brow thinking of all the names and titles the wizard was known by.

"Are you afraid, dear?" she asked.

"No, he's Afraid," said Harry.

"That's the spirit, sweetie," she said.

"Actually, I'm pretty sure he's a wizard," said Harry. Marlene nodded as if this was in any way helpful information. "I'm not sure how he got me, but I was suddenly in his office. He was trying to convince me about something to do with my bird and his fox, I still don't understand what he wanted. I just want to go home."

Marlene frowned at the unfamiliar euphemism but gave Harry's knee a comforting squeeze nonetheless. Producing parchment and a quill, she made a series of quick notes.

"Alright, dear. Did you get a good look at this wizard?"

Harry nodded.

"He was very tall, and he had this really long white beard. He wore these awful robes, and had these glasses that sparkled a lot and…"

Harry wanted to provide more details but did the best his vision allowed for.

"That's quite enough, dear. No need to relive the experience," said Marlene. "I think I know who you're describing.

"Where's your home and your parents?" she asked.

"I live in Lancre," said Harry. "It's in the Ramtop Mountains, it's where all the cool stuff happens. I live with Granny, Nanny, and Mum, but not all at once, of course. They hand me off at coven meetings. It would probably be easiest to find Mum because she's the queen. Queen Magrat of Lancre." Harry beamed.

Marlene gave him a long look that he chose to take as admiration. It did appear an awful lot like pity, though.

"How'd it go, Marles," asked Auror Dawlish.

"About as well as we can expect, the poor thing," she said. "It looks like he was abducted and then confunded. He remembers his whole life as some whimsical farce, saying that Queen's name is Magrat, she's his mum, and that Great Britain is Land-Cray.

"He did get a good look at the perp, though," she added grimly.

"Ah, someone we know?" Dawlish guessed.

"You could say that," said Marlene. "Looks like our dear headmaster 'invited' young Harry here into his office for a game of bird and fox, if you know what I mean."

"Dumbledore?!" said Dawlish. "Merlin's towerous lair, I can hardly believe it."

"I don't know, Dawlish. We've all heard the rumors about Aberforth and that poor goat. Maybe he's not the only member of the family that's gotten a bit twisted," she said.

"You know, now that I think about it, the headmaster has always been a bit off. And everyone at the ministry has wondered why he's stuck around teaching here when he could have been minister, no problem.

"I guess we've got our answer now," he said.

"That we do," said Marlene. "That still leaves the question of what to do about it. Harry's confunded to Hades and back so we can't hope for a conviction on the back of his testimony."

"Right, and if we go public with this, the boy will likely still be forced to deal with the headmaster after the trial, and we'll just make it easier for slime like Malfoy to gain political ground," Dawlish said.

"Wait. I think I've got it. We don't have to go public, but we can use the threat as leverage. I don't think we can nail the old bastard for this, but we should be able to keep Harry safe. Do you know that girl that called this in?" asked Marlene.

"The prospective trainee? Yeah, I think I can get a hold of her," said Dawlish.

"Good, bring her down to the ministry, we'll need her help to make this work. I'll go down now and loop the Captain in on this," she said.

Both of them looked at Harry, who was now cautiously poking at an array of breakfast foods.

"It's days like this that I remember exactly why I joined the force," said Dawlish.


	6. Chapter 5: Misunderstood

The Wizengamot's very own Chief Warlock strode through the ministry atrium with a confident and aloof air about him. He gave his usual slight frown to the statue of magical brethren and entered the gilded cage of the elevator. He allowed himself a chuckle at how wizard-kind seemed to randomly pick bits of muggle innovation to ape.

He soon reached his desired floor, though that was, perhaps, overstating things.

He made his way to a small desk in front of an ornate door.

"Good morning, Miss Leavensworth," said Albus with a kindly smile.

"Actually, it's the afternoon now, Chief Mugwump Dumbledore, sir," said Albus' secretary.

Albus withdrew a golden pocket watch and saw that it was, indeed, nearly a quarter of one.

"Ah, you are correct, of course. You could possibly be even more correct if you addressed me as Chief Warlock, since I act in the ministry in that capacity," he said.

The explanation was for naught, though, as the secretary was now engrossed in whatever letter she now held before her face.

She lowered it and peered at him with eyes dulled with boredom.

"I'm sorry, sir, what was it you needed?" she asked.

"It is of no consequence, my dear," he said.

He pulled open the finely filigreed door and carefully maneuvered around his large desk. Rather, he maneuvered around the too-high stacks of parchment work piled precariously upon it. Albus often bemoaned the fact that the equal of his Deputy Headmistress was simply not to be found. Miss Leavensworth, like several secretaries before her, had strong opinions about what was and was not included in her duties. Looking at the veritable flock's worth of parchment before him, Albus dearly wished that her definition were a bit broader.

To be fair, he had not come here in quite a while. Between the start of the term, the ongoing search for young Harry, and his international commitments, this was the first time he'd been in this office since August.

He chose a proposed law to look through. The text of the law itself was a mere paragraph concerning customs of certain imports. The accumulated addenda from months bouncing between the most august members of the Wizengamot pushed the page count well past one hundred.

They would insert loopholes for their own businesses, attempt to immortalize insults of other families in law, and sometimes even subtly build their own agendas of pro-purebloodedness, anti-mugglebornness, pro-wizardry, or anti-anything-but-wizardry.

It fell to him the excise such things from these bills. He ungreased the wheels but hoped that his actions wouldn't bring the whole process to a grinding halt.

There was a sharp snap as a miniature door in the top of his office door admitted a bit of parchment shaped like a muggle aeroplane. It landed and unfolded itself in front of the legislation that Albus had been preparing to read.

Albus thought it was quite presumptuous for a bit of parchment.

"Albus,

Your presence is requested in my office immediately.

M. Bones"

Albus gave his paperwork a hard look and exited his office.

"Miss Leavensworth, I'm afraid that I've been called away. Do you think there's anyway that you could… ah…" Albus made a flowing gesture with his hand towards his office.

"Do you want me to sort your work out by priority?" she asked.

"That would be marvellous," said Albus. "And perhaps-"

"Yes, perhaps alphabetize them as a secondary sorting process," she said.

"What I meant to ask is-" Albus began.

"You see, I've already done all that," she said and pulled up a newspaper. It was the Quibbler. A copy of the Daily Prophet lay discarded in her rubbish bin.

"Do you think you could, perhaps-" Albus bean again.

"Engage in the type of decision making that is appropriate only for an elected official such as yourself? Surely you wouldn't ask me to complete work inappropriate to my position. I could very well get canned, if not fined and imprisoned for such a thing," she said.

"Of course not," Albus admitted. "Have a pleasant afternoon, Miss Leavensworth."

The elevator dutifully carried him to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and he waded through a sea of cubicles and red robes to get to the plain office at the end of it.

Waiting inside was the austere Madam Bones, the Head Auror, Rufus Scrimgeour, who had a gleam in his eye, and two Aurors, one of whom he knew quite well.

"Please have a seat, Albus," said the Director of the DMLE, one Amelia Bones. Her dogged determination had served her well in both her OWLs and NEWTs.

Albus sat down in the only chair available which was directly opposite everyone else in the room.

"Good afternoon, everyone," said Albus. "To what do I owe the please of such esteemed company today?"

There was a shifting of glances amongst the table's other occupants, ostensibly to sort out who had the best combination of authority and knowledge. Naturally, they all attempted to speak at once.

"You-"

"There-"

"We-"

"Goatfu-"

There was a silence as they all stared at one another again. Madam Bones cleared her throat and began.

"Albus, we have come across testimony that would be quite damaging to your reputation were it to become public knowledge, and would be unlikely to end in a conviction. We thought it best to exercise discretion in a matter this sensitive," she said.

"May I ask what I am being accused of?" asked Albus.

"You know very well what you did!" shouted Marlene. At Hogwarts and in the Order she had always been inclined towards hysterics. "Messing about in your office playing 'birds and foxes' with little boys, you, you kidnapping brother of a goatfu-"

"That's quite enough, Auror," said Rufus harshly, though a smile began to stretch his lips.

"I can see how any rumor might be damaging," said Albus, "but I can assure you that this is all a simple misunderstanding."

"Albus," cut in Madam Bones, "we're not interested in your excuses or equivocation. We're not here to blackmail or extort, what we want, believe it or not, is the best for everyone involved. The testimony of Harry Potter, AKA Harry Whemper-Ogg-Garlick-Weatherwax is serious and quite damning. What we want most of all is to prevent any similar situation from happening again."

She slid a bit of parchment across the table. Albus picked it up and began deciphering the legalise, which was a slightly more complicated sister language to the politicalise that he was fluent in. His eyebrows climbed up his forehead as comprehension came to him.

"Is this really necessary?" Albus asked.

"Absolutely," said Madam Bones, "and it's the first of two steps. It's been rumored that you've wanted to step down from one or two of your positions." Albus spotted Rufus' smile grow and considered it proof of his suspicion that Rufus had been the one to start those perfidious rumors.

"We strongly suggest that your first sacrifice be your position at Hogwarts, and that your resignation take place within two years. We don't want you to stay in a position of authority over children any longer than necessary."

"That is quite a reasonable proposal," said Albus. "However, I would be remiss if I did not reiterate that this whole affair is due to a simple misunderstanding. You see, young Harry and I just had a disagreement about my phoenix, Fawkes, and whether he's a bird or-"

"Oh, and you showed him what was what with your 'phoenix,' did you?" Auror Dawlish interrupted. "We don't want to hear about what sick games you've gotten up to with school children, we just want it to stop."

"I'm sorry?" said Albus, who felt that his eyebrows had ascended from their lowly state and joined their hair-venly brethren.

"Just cooperate with us on this," said Madam Bones. "None of us wants to see what the likes of Malfoy could do with this information politically. Maybe if it comes out five years down the road it'll be less of a shock. Like a corrupted legacy of an important figure instead of a chopping down of a pillar of society."

"I see that your minds have already been made," said Albus. "I shall acquiesce, but it pains me to even consider leaving Hogwarts."

Albus fondly trailed his fingers along the stone walls of the castle as he walked. He wandered for a bit before making his way to his destination. Finally, he opened the door to a plain, austerely decorated office. For masters of transfiguration, Albus had found that there were two schools of thought regarding interior decoration.

Albus counted himself amongst the first, which delighted in surrounding oneself with trinkets, oddments, and devices which one had designed and transfigured.

The second school favored more bare furnishings, delighting instead in the knowledge that they could be turned into anything the owner needed in but a moment. This was the school to which his Deputy Headmistress belonged.

Albus sat lightly in a straight-backed chair.

The black-haired witch frowned at him from behind a tidy pile of parchment.

"Well?" he asked.

She waved her wand and a paper became a tea kettle holding water just short of boiling. Another wave produced cups from her inkwell and spare quill. A filled creamer and tea bags came flying in from somewhere and the tea proceeded to prepare itself. Albus and Minerva watched it in silence. After she had taken her first sip Minerva spoke.

"I don't like it, Albus. This feels more like spying than it does helping a new student adjust to Hogwarts. I do hope there's a reason why you're not simply checking in on him yourself," she said.

"Indeed, there is," he said. Very officious parchment bearing the signatures of the Head Auror and the Director of Magical Law Enforcement weighed heavily in his robes.

The witch did not look pleased by his answer. Nevertheless, she continued.

"He seems to be a sweet child, he kept asking if I had seen his bird." Albus did not react to her implied question. "It was a bit difficult to keep him on track, and I found it best to just accept his ...idiosyncrasies and move on."

"Idiosyncrasies?" Albus probed.

"There's no better word for it. I asked if he'd like to attend Hogwarts to learn magic, as it is the best places for wizards and witches. He was very clear with me that he was not a wizard, but a simple apple-seller. After a moment he also admitted that he would also like to attend Hogwarts and learn magic," she said.

"An apple-seller," said Albus. "I do wonder how he would explain the fact that he has no apples with him."

Minerva didn't roll her eyes, but it was a near thing.

"Well, headmaster, were I to have abandoned all practical desire to steer the conversation in a productive direction and asked that I could very well imagine his response," she said.

"Oh yes?" prompted the headmaster.

"Yes, Albus. I have no doubt that he would have cited that as proof positive that he is quite good at selling apples," she said.

"Ah," he said, "yes, I can well imagine that."

"Speaking of keeping important conversations on track…"

"Ah yes, my apologies," he said. "Please continue."

"Harry did not wish to divulge much about his background, but he considered himself the orphan son of someone named 'Goodie.' He may have been lying about the name. Anyway, the revelation that he is the son of Lily Evans and James Potter was quite the shock.

"It's perfectly understandable, of course. It would be a shock to anyone to find their parentage different than they had supposed. It's fortunate that he quickly developed a fondness for stories about Lily's exploits and seems to greatly admire her."

"You know," said Albus, "this may well support my theory that-"

Minerva cleared her throat loudly.

"Ah, right. Please excuse my interruption," said Albus.

"He seems familiar with the concept and some of the workings of magic, but since we know nothing of his upbringing," she paused and looked at Albus, almost daring him to speak, "we will have to conduct evaluations. From there we can determine what we need to do to catch him up with his class. Of course, we'll have to escort him to Diagon to get his supplies first. I suppose we should have him sorted as well, if the hat is up to making an appearance."

Albus wisely paused to make certain that she was finished.

"Seeing as term has begun and all the professors will be quite busy," said Albus, "I think I will send him to Diagon Alley with Hagrid. He should be more than up to the task of protecting young Harry and introducing him to one of the wonders of the magical world."

Minerva narrowed her eyes, certain that the headmaster felt he was getting one past her. However, it was true that she and the other professors already had a courseload that was nearly impossible to manage.

"I suppose that will do," she said. "I wouldn't press him for those answers you so clearly covet, Albus. Magic saw fit to plop him in our laps without so much as a 'by your leave.' The poor dear has been forced into a situation entirely out of his control. If confronted he'd probably grasp for any sort of infantile power play available to him. It would be best to let him settle in before asking anything more of him than of any other student."

Albus winced, but nodded.

"I believe that you speak the truth," he said. He drank deeply from his tea.

"Now tell me, Minerva," he said "what of the rest of Hogwarts?"


	7. Chapter 6: On Dragons

"Are you sure you're alright, then?" she asked.

Harry nodded.

"There's nothing wrong with _me,"_ said Harry. "I think they're just keeping me here because wizards want to feel good about themselves and just label everyone else as 'infirm' whatever that means. It says more about them than about me."

The witch at his bedside smiled.

"Well, I'm glad that you're-"

She was interrupted by the infirmary door slamming open and admitting a large mass of leather and hair.

"Bless me," said the creature. "Is tha' you, Harry?"

"My name is Harry," said Harry, "but I'm not sure how I would know if I'm the Harry that you think I am."

"Righ'," he said. "Dumbledore reckoned you'd be a bit weird with words. 'S ok, they say I'm not too great with words, meself."

"Dumbledore sent you?" asked the witch in an even tone. Her hair had turned red, which Harry thought was probably because she liked the color.

"Sure did!" he said. "The professor sent me 'imself to take young Harry, here, over to Diagon and get his supplies."

"And you're going alone?" asked the witch.

"Well, no," he said. "I'm taking Harry along like I just said."

Tonks sighed.

"Hagrid, that's not what I meant," she said. "I just wanted to make sure that- well nevermind."

"Ready then, Harry?" Hagrid asked.

Harry narrowed his eyes. The man wasn't wearing a hat of any sort, but he was sent by a wizard. There was only one way to get to the truth of the matter.

"Are you a wizard?" Harry asked.

"Hmph!" Hagrid appeared insulted, which was a good sign. "Listen here, Harry, I don' know what you've been told, but I'm just as much a wizard as you or Tonks there!"

"Oh," said Harry. "That's alright then, so where are we going again?"

Hagrid seemed nonplussed and Tonks was resting her face on both of her hands.

"Um," said Hagrid, "Diagon Alley! Just wait till you see it, Harry!

"Wow," said Harry. "This really is amazing!"

Hagrid looked like he had sat on a tac and was doing his best to ignore it.

"How did they get the buildings like that? I mean they aren't exactly pretty, but it seems like they can only get that big because of magic," ranted Harry.

"Um," said Hagrid.

"And what are these things that everyone's riding around in? Are they some sort of magical creature? I love how they're all different colors!"

"Well, you see-," began Hagrid.

"And why is it called Diagon _Alley_?" asked Harry. "There are lots of roads here and all of them are bigger than any I've ever seen!"

"The thing is-" said Hagrid.

"Wait, why are we going into this dingy tavern?" asked Harry.

"'Snot Diagon Alley," muttered Hagrid.

"What?" asked Harry.

"This is just muggle London, we haven't gotten to the Alley yet," said Hagrid.

"Muggle? London?" Harry had taken to shortening his questions about words he didn't know.

"London's just a city, though a right big one," said Hagrid. "Muggle means people without magic. They built all the stuff you see 'round ya. 'Cept for this pub, here. That's all wizard."

"What about that building?" asked Harry. "It's got so many windows there's no way it could stand up on its own without magic."

Hagrid truly considered the aforementioned building, quite possibly for the first time.

"I suppose I don't rightly know," he admitted.

"And what about that long metal tubey thing that we rode in? How'd people without magic make that?" asked Harry.

"The train? Oh, that's jus' electricity they run on, perfectly normal," he said.

"What's electricity?" Harry asked.

"It's… it's a bit like lightning, I suppose," said Hagrid.

"So these people, without magic, pull lightning from the sky to make their trayns go places?" Harry asked.

"No, no. They don't go 'round pullin' it from the sky. They usually make it out of other things," Hagrid saw the next question forming on Harry's lips so he continued. "Other things like rivers, and the wind, gasoline and such."

"What's gaso-" Harry began.

"It's a type of fuel made from old plants and animals, like dinosaurs," said Hagrid.

"What are-" Harry began again.

"Dinosaurs're a bit like giant lizards," Hagrid interrupted.

"Like dragons?" asked Harry.

"Yep, tha's right, like dragons. 'Cept not all of 'em fly, I don' reckon any of 'em breathed fire, and all of 'em are long dead." Hagrid got a far-off look in his eyes. "A shame that, a true shame."

"So they dig up these dragon-ish things and burn them in some sort of ritual that gives them kinda-lightning and they use that to make trayns and such go places?" asked Harry.

"No, that's not quite right," said Hagrid.

"That's for sure, it sounds like necromancy," said Harry.

"What? No," said Hagrid.

"Don't worry, I wouldn't desecrate a dragon's grave like these necromantic muggles," said Harry. He gave a suspicious glance at the buildings and street behind him, which now seemed altogether sinister to him.

"Um..." began Hagrid. "Well… you see…"

They found themselves before a brick wall, which Hagrid hastily tapped with his umbrella.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley, Harry!" Hagrid said as the bricks folded away.

"Oh," said Harry. "Cool."

"Cool?" said Hagrid.

"Yeah, like, it looks like a village bazaar, but with more magic," said Harry. "Which is cool, but not like 'woah' level and obviously magical like the muggles and their draconic necromancy."

"Righ'," said Hagrid. "Well, let's getcha over to the bank first."

It was a long walk and conversation was hard as Harry used Hagrid's bulk to shield himself from the press of the crowd. Because of this, Harry didn't see the large white marble building until it was right in front of him.

"Woah," he said. Hagrid's bushy eyebrows furrowed.

"Really?" Hagrid asked. "Ne'ermind that. Now once we go inside you migh' wanna be careful what you say. See, the folk what run the bank they're a rough lot. Violent, proud, stingy, as like to run you through and take your money as anything."

"Oh, they're wizards then?" Harry asked.

A bark-like laugh sounded from the bank's door. Harry looked over and saw a short figure with rough dark green skin dressed in gleaming armor. It looked like it might be smiling. It was showing a lot of teeth at any rate.

"Well, let's get on in, then."

Harry crinkled his nose at the goblin as they passed. Something in the air tickled the inside of his nose.

Harry made a strange noise that was a combination of a sneeze, a cough, a hiccough, and a snort.

The short creature made a similar sound back at him, it was probably contagious, like yawning.

Hagrid's eyebrows climbed up his forehead and seemed determined to join their kin to the north.

Harry figured that he must be allergic to these short, green wizards since he kept being attacked by sneezes, coughs, hiccoughs, and snorts in various combinations. The green wizards must also be allergic to him since they kept responding to him in kind. Either that or it was, indeed, as contagious as yawning, like he had first suspected.

Whatever the case, Hagrid eventually stopped talking to one of them and they headed towards the back of the bank.

"Into the cart, wizard," said the latest short wizard.

Harry crossed his arms. "I'll not stand here and be insulted like some kind of wannabe witch you... you-" but before he could think of a proper insult Harry was overcome by a cough that transitioned into a sneeze, followed shortly by a hiccough.

The green wizard was taken aback, probably concentrating on not sneezing himself.

"Very well, youngling," he said eventually.

His mild words were a cover, however, as he then tried to murder both Harry and Hagrid through grossly negligent cart driving.

It might not be personal, though. Based on the state of the tracks, Harry figured that the short wizards resented their underground lifestyle and were determined to meet their own ends as soon as possible.

Fortunately for Harry, his innate magical strength as a witch in training was enough to guarantee the safety of all passengers in rickety death-trap.

As it came to a stop, the diminutive wizard led them to a large door which he opened to reveal a pile of gold more substantial than Harry had ever bothered to imagine.

"Woah," said Harry. Hagrid's beard twitched. "All this gold was my parents'?"

"That's right," said Hagrid. "Though most of it came from your dad, being a pureblood and all."

Harry was confused about what one's blood had to do with the amount of gold one had.

Unless…

"Was my dad a dragon?" Harry asked?

"What?" said Hagrid.

"Oh, that's probably why he was killed," said Harry.

"Pardon?" Hagrid tried to interrupt.

"Those cursed muggles must have killed him so their foul sorcery could turn his body into lightning to build their majestic but also evil buildings," Harry said. All the pieces fit.

Hagrid stood there, mouth agape. He was stunned that Harry had figured out the truth so quickly.

"Don't worry Hagrid," said Harry. He could see why the not-wizard hadn't filled him in right away.

"I know I'm not ready to confront the muggles and their superior magic yet," said Harry. "I'll work hard and become as great a wit-, er, wizard as I can be before knocking the muggles down a peg."

"Er," said Hagrid, "I don't think that's quite right."

"No, no," said Harry patiently, "all the pieces fit."

"Right then," muttered Hagrid. He let out a sigh and let his shoulders rest as low as they could go. Harry figured that it must be tiring carrying around shoulders like that, so didn't judge him at all for the gesture.

Harry looked for the shorter wizard, expecting him to butt in as well. Fortunately, he seemed to be occupied in arranging gold coins on the floor in the shape of a long oval with two circles at one end.

"Let's, er," said Hagrid, "go fetch your supplies then."

* * *

Harry was decidedly uncomfortable.

He was dressed in comfortable robes which were being altered to fit him perfectly.

Wizard robes.

"What about those robes?" he asked. "The ones with the nice black lace."

The proprietress cast a polite glance to her stock.

"Those are witches robes, young sir," she said.

"Yes, and?" Harry asked.

"Well, if you wear those, then everyone will think you're a witch!" she said.

"Yes," said Harry, "that's the po-, er, what I mean to say is you are most certainly right. That would, er, be terrible."

Harry carefully considered how to get some witch's robes without people finding out that he was secretly a witch.

"Ms.," he began, "you wouldn't happen to have a book of spells for the mending and," his eyes darted over to the beautiful lace-trimmed robes, "alteration of clothing would you?"

"I don't usually make a practice of selling those," she said, "but I do have an extra copy I could part with, just for you."

She ambled to the back room a swiftly returned with a narrow and well-worn tome. Harry flipped through the pages looking for illustrations, but only found sketches of hands holding sticks and confusing arrows. More cunning would be required.

"Does this have anything about sewing lace?" Harry asked. "Just so I know it's complete and all."

She took the book and read a page in the back before turning to a page in the middle and handing it back to Harry.

"There you are dear," she turned, "Mr. Hagrid, perhaps you could talk some sense into him?" she asked.

"Er," said Hagrid, "I think I'll be off to the Leaky Cauldron fer a pint."

For such a big man, Hagrid made off quite quickly.

Harry, meanwhile, stared at the page in incomprehension.

"Ms., how do people usually remember to do things that they don't think they'll remember to do," he asked.

"Oh, well I usually just write a note to myself about it," she said.

"Oh," said Harry. "I suppose it's worth a shot. Could you please write a note here at the top of the page?"

A pencil appeared in her hand.

"What would you like it to say, dear?" she asked.

"Learn to read," Harry enunciated carefully.

She paused for a long moment before scribbling something on the page. Presumably what Harry had asked of her.

Harry looked at the markings carefully, unsure of how this was going to help him remember anything.

* * *

"Mr. Potter," said the shopkeep, "I think you'll enjoy this fully charmed trunk. It's got our specialized luxury manor themed, and sized, interior, full blood, soul, and password protection, and even comes with three house elves for upkeep. The price is only fitting for one of your station and fame."

"You said all these things come from being charmed?" asked Harry.

"Yes, these are a special product of our chief charms master, the venerable and wizened Bureaut Buehrer," the shopkeep replied.

"A wizard?" Harry asked with narrowed eyes.

"Not just any wizard, I'd say even Dumbledore would be afraid to match charms with him," he said.

"No thank you," Harry gritted out. "I'll take a natural trunk and be on my way," he paused. "In black please."

* * *

"Aren't you supposed to be in school? Wait, oh right, McGonagall sent an owl saying you needed first-year potion supplies. I've got them ready right here," said the merchant.

"That's good," said Harry, "I'll need these as well."

With that, he put one of the shop's small display barrels on the counter.

"Oh, how many do you want of 'em?" he asked.

Harry looked at the barrel and looked back at the merchant in confusion, which quickly gave way to excitement.

"You mean you have more barrels of this?!" he said.

"What? No. Are you saying you want the whole barrel?" the merchant asked.

Harry nodded.

"What on earth do you need that many newt eyes for?" he asked.

Harry narrowed his eyes but didn't otherwise respond.

"Alright then, that's fine, I guess," said the merchant.

* * *

Harry stepped into the book store and found it to be full of books. He considered the book he already had, and couldn't figure how him having any more books would do anyone any good.

Harry stepped out of the bookstore, stepped some more, and stepped into the wand shop. Wands were almost as wizardy as brimless hats covered in stars. Wizards cared greatly about their wands and constantly bragged about them. As Granny said, "wands are very important to those that have them." But he had to keep up appearances, for now, at least.

"Mr. Potter, I've been expecting you," said a voice, that turned out to belong to a decrepit and old looking man who seemed to enjoy frightening young children. That is to say, he was everything Harry expected from a wizard.

"Well, you've got my name mostly wrong," said Harry, "so I expect all your expecting has gone to waste."

"Hm," said the wizard, "let's see about fitting you for a wand."

Harry spent the next hour feeling exposed and vindicated. No amount of magical measuring tape, dusty boxes of wands, or 'how about this' had managed to pair him with a wand. Harry knew it was because he was actually a witch. Harry was afraid that the wizard knew it was actually because he was a witch.

"I don't suppose," the wizard trialed off, "well, why not?"

He dug around for a wand behind his desk and emerged a minute later. He handed the wand to Harry almost reverently.

Once Harry grasped it, it sent ocatarine sparks flying everywhere and filled him with a fantastic sense of warmth that he didn't have time to talk himself out of.

"Funny that that wand should pick you," said the wizard.

Harry remembered the pretense that he was maintaining.

"And why should that be funny?" Harry asked defensively.

"Just that this wand is the brother-"

"-or sister," Harry interrupted.

The man looked at him strangely for a moment before deciding to ignore him.

"-of the wand that gave you that scar."

"Wait," said Harry, "it was the death curse that gave me this scar. Does this wand shoot death curses?" Harry dropped it on the floor, then dove away when it bounced back towards him.

"Of course it could," said the wizard.

"Oh," said Harry, "I don't suppose I could get a different one, or just do without?"

"Ah, this wand has chosen you, no other will do, and every wizard needs one."

"Oh, ok," said Harry, "would you, er, mind setting that back in its box for me? Thanks!"


	8. Chapter 7: Placement Tests

Harry knocked on the heavy wooden door in front of him.

A muffled sound came from within. It was probably some variety of permission to enter.

He entered the dark classroom and found a man standing at the far end of the room. He had greasy black hair that would make Magrat shudder, a face and teeth so twisted and unpleasant that Granny would kill to have it. His robes even billowed slightly despite the lack of any wind.

Despite his lack of a wide-brimmed hat, Harry immediately recognized that the man knew what he longed to know with all his heart. Despite the accident of his birth, he had become an impeccable witch.

Harry ran forward to hug the man.

Well, he would have had he not been cursed midway. After having his arms snap to his sides and his legs lock together he promptly toppled.

"Mr. Potter," the witch said "Today you are being assessed for each of your core classes. For your potions assessment, you will go to your station," at this point a cauldron, cutting board and knife promptly levitated from the center of the room to the corner farthest from the professor's desk, "and use the ingredients in the back of the classroom to make a calming drought. Instructions are on the board."

Harry felt his limbs being released.

"Of course mu-, ma'-, um sir," said Harry and eagerly found his station and set about his work. He looked to the board, but unfortunately, the professor's writing was very blurry. Harry narrowed his eyes and took a few steps back since that sometimes helped him read bad writing like this. None of the words were among the handful that he knew, however.

"Potter," the professor said, "it would be wise to avoid wasting my time."

Harry smothered a smile as he was reminded of Granny. However, remembering what kind of actions followed when Granny made a statement like that he sobered and hastily began grabbing ingredients.

Gathering and preparing ingredients took the most time. Next was lighting the fire and bringing the water to a boil. After that, completing the potion was the work of a single minute. If he took too long with this recipe at home, all his mums would complain about the bitterness.

Harry searched the cabinets until he found a flask with a handle and then proudly presented it to the professor with his potion inside.

"Here it is ma'- um, sir," said Harry. "I had trouble finding some ingredients, so you may find it a tad bitter."

"It is the wrong color," said the professor.

"Well, this is how-" Harry began.

"And the wrong consistency," said the professor as he swirled the glass.

"Magrat, and Nanny, and Granny make it-" continued Harry.

"And the wrong sme-" the professor brought it before his oversized nostrils. "Potter! Did you make a cup of tea?!"

"Yes mu-, sir. You're welcome, sir. My mums all find this blend quite calming," said Harry.

The professor stared at him for what seemed like forever.

"Did you even attempt to read my instructions?" he asked in a voice like ice, or like Granny when she knew Harry had skipped out on chores.

"Yes," said Harry, "I didn't get much out of it, though."

"I can see that," he seethed.

Harry, seeing familiar signs, fled before the witch could choose a manifestation for his anger. Harry started to feel more at home all the same.

Harry's run turned into a walk and he ran his hand along the stone walls as he went. The stone was physically cold, but there was a very real, but not quite material, warmth there. His hand pushed through an open door and he realized that he had closed his eyes and stopped paying attention to where he was going some time ago.

"Right on time, Mr. Evans-Garlick-Ogg-Potter-Weatherwax," said a stern voice.

"Yes, of course," said Harry, "that's very, uh, wizardly of me, right?"

He stepped in to find the owner of the stern voice staring at him in a very stern way.

"Take a seat here and I shall guide you through the assessment," she said.

Harry took the indicated seat and immediately picked up the match on the desk in front of him. Lady Stern bristled slightly.

"My first years are now all capable of turning that into a needle and back," she continued on, but Harry figured that he should concentrate on obeying her first implicit instruction before bothering to hear any more.

He looked closely at the match, holding it just a few inches in front of his nose. The wood in it only faintly remembered being a tree. It had been through more than a simple chopping. The tip was a mixture of a lot of things from a lot of places. Harry couldn't see more clearly than that into its past. The result was that it had strongly embraced its new identity as a match. Also, it had no inclination at all towards being metal or being sharp.

A stern clearing of the throat caught his attention. Harry's eyes refocused and beheld an expression calculated to inculcate terror in any adolescent. Well, any adolescent who had not been inoculated against glares, stares, and any other punishment or intimidation by way of facial expression from infancy onward.

"Repeat what I was just telling you," she demanded.

"You were just explaining how to turn this match into a needle," said Harry. "You mentioned 'thee-heretical under-pinnings,' but I thought I would just start with a regular pin."

Her expression did not soften.

"You may require your wand,"she intoned.

"Yes, ma'am," said Harry.

He returned to staring at the match. She sighed.

"Mr. Evans-Garlick-Ogg-Potter-Weatherwax, please get out your wand," she said.

Harry reluctantly opened the bag he had been given. It only had his wand box in it, since he didn't see the point of carrying around the book he couldn't read or the parchment and quills he couldn't use. Well, he had also stuffed in a few stray pillows he had found, just so the wand wouldn't be jostled.

He removed the wand box and carefully set it at the farthest corner of his desk. He then returned to staring at his match. He was distracted by another sigh, this one much heavier.

He looked up to see his instructor had not so much relaxed her face as transformed it into another shape, but with the same intensity. She was no longer projecting anger, but it looked like she might be using her vast anger as fuel for her determination to not let herself get angry.

"Mr. Evans-Garlick-Ogg-Potter-Weatherwax, please remove your wand from its box," she said.

Although he didn't know his letters, Harry knew well how to follow the letter of any law. He first removed one of the small pillows from his bag and placed it just in front of his wand box. He then opened the box's lid and slowly tilted it towards him. The wand gently rolled onto the cushion. He breathed a sigh of relief and made to pick the match up again.

"You will find that it is necessary to use your wand for transfiguration," she said.

Harry glanced at his wand with trepidation. He could imagine golden sparks of death shooting from it as soon as he picked it up, murdering him and the entire school.

"What if I don't find it necessary?" he asked.

She crossed her arms.

"I shall humor you for a few moments," she said, "by all means, wandlessly transfigure this match into a needle."

Harry set about it in the only way he knew how. He brought the match up to his face again and mentally begged and pleaded with the match. Unfortunately, it really didn't want to. Harry began to sweat, fearing what his wand might do when he had a breakthrough.

"Ma'am, you want me to change it to a needle and back into a match again, right?" he asked.

"Transforming it into a needle is a necessary first step of that process," she said, "but returning it to its original form would be the next thing you would learn."

Heartened, Harry tried a new tack. He communicated the new information to the match. It wouldn't have to be a needle for very long, it would be a vacation of sorts. Time to take a load off and experience a shinier world. The match couldn't exactly form words, not having a brain, but its feelings roughly translated to "ok, but just to see what it feels like."

Abruptly, Harry was holding a perfect needle in his hand. He smiled at it until the woman across from him snatched it up and examined it with wide eyes. Before she handed it back she schooled her expression into one that said that she knew you were up to something but hadn't quite figured out what it was. Unfortunately for her, Harry was well used to this expression too, and even considered it the best he could get out of Granny Weatherwax.

"You may change it back now," she said with an air of challenge.

Harry merely nodded at the needle which changed back in less than a moment. It wordlessly expressed relief. Harry got the impression that, while novel, being a needle just wasn't for it and it was quite happy with remaining as a match from then on out.

"You have passed my assessment," she said, "you should have no trouble keeping up with my first years given this performance."

It looked like she might have wanted to say something else, but her pursed lips sealed the words inside her mouth.

"You'd best be on to your next assessment," she said.

"Yes, ma'am," said Harry.

He was glad to be reminded of home, but he was beginning to fear the possibility that all of his instructors would remind him of Granny Weatherwax. Even at the best of times, a little bit of Granny was very close to being too much of Granny.

He began inspecting banisters as he passed them. Some had patterned knobs along them, some were little more than handrails. Within a few minutes, he discovered one that was both wide and smooth enough for his purposes.

He straddled it and leaned back. He accelerated more quickly than he anticipated but he was able to keep his balance by kicking his legs about. Seeing the end coming, he rolled toward the stairs and was lucky to land on a bunched rug that smoothed his impact and turned his momentum into a slide across the stone floor hallway. It was a short hallway and the wide rug caught at the door, propelling Harry onto his feet and into the classroom.

"No need to run, Mr. Potter," squeaked a voice. "You've made it quite on time."

Harry caught his breath and beheld his new examiner. He was quite short and his face had an odd pallor and shape. It was almost like he was…

"Are you, perhaps, one of those short wizards?" Harry asked.

The professor paused for a moment.

"I suppose that I am," he said, "but most people call me Professor Flitwick."

"Nice to meet you, Professor Flitwick," said Harry. "People call me all sorts of things, but they ought to call me Harry."

"Very well, Harry," said Professor Flitwick. "Your assessment is simply to lift a feather with magic."

Harry saw a short white feather laying on a desk and gave it his full attention. Luckily for Harry, it really did want to fly. In fact, it felt that the rest of the chicken it had previously been attached to had rather been holding it back. With a little bit of magic the feather was soaring around the room.

"Oh ho, excellent!" cried the short wizard. "And without a wand, no less!"

Harry smiled smugly. His smile faded as it occurred to him that being too good at magic might out him as a witch.

"Now, I'd wouldn't exactly advise going the wandless route," said Professor Flitwick. "Sure, it's impressive and showy, but some of the more intricate and nuanced magics later on in your education will become much more difficult."

Harry nodded as seriously as he imagined he might if he knew what 'intricate' and 'nuanced' meant.

"Ah, I see that I haven't quite convinced you," said the professor. "Nevermind that, there's plenty of time for education later. In the meantime, would you like directions to your next assessment?"

Harry shook his head.

"So far I haven't had a clue where I'm going and I've just barely made it on time," said Harry. "If I have to stop and think about directions then there's no way I'd make my appointments."

Worried about being late, he charged out the door, leaving Flitwick's response unheard.

After wandering for what felt to him like an appropriate length of time, Harry tried the nearest door. It was locked and Harry came to the obvious conclusion.

This was clearly his next assessment.

While the door wanted to open and close, the lock clearly wanted to lock, and it had the final say. Fortunately, it was made of iron, and iron wanted all sorts of things, one of which it hadn't gotten to do in a great long while.

The bolt turned into hot slag and flowed into the crevices of the stone floor. Harry failed to anticipate the handles and hinges getting jealous and following suit soon thereafter. The door remained still for a moment before falling inwards with a resounding crash.

Inside was a great three-headed dog who looked like he was startled out of a nap by and unexpected crash.

Harry stared at the middle head while all three stared at him. Both sides of the stare-down had too many thoughts at once to take any action,so the stare down continued.

Harry, having thought of this as his test, wondered if he was now supposed to tame the dog(s?) in front of him. There was a large part of him that wanted to run for his life, a smaller part that knew not to run from dogs, and another part that was very much excited to see the largest dog of his life and the one with the most heads too!

The dog was a little better off, having three distinct heads to shuffle its different thoughts to. After a moment of mental sorting impossibly complex to pitiable monocephalites, its right head returned to napping, its left head growled threateningly, and its middle head whined pitifully and nudged an empty bowl towards Harry.

"Er," said Harry, the indecisiveness in his head apparently spreading to his mouth.

None of the dog's heads opted to fill the conversational void, forcing Harry to make another attempt.

"Good boy?" Harry said tentatively.

The heads continued their respective activities with the snoring, whining, and growling growing just a bit louder. The part of Harry that wanted to run took advantage of his distraction and eased his ankle backward before the rest of him could notice.

It made a clear _glurp_ into a pool of recently molten metal and four pairs of eyes were instantly drawn to the, now dripping, heel of Harry's shoe.

For whatever reason, this galvanized into action the three minds in the room that had been quite negligent in their duties. The right and center head of the dog joined the left in growling threateningly. Harry's mind, however, was faced with the unenviable and always much more difficult task of keeping Harry alive. It also operated with the significant handicap of being unable to let go of a notion easily.

He reached out to the pile of liquid metal he had stepped on.

 _How would you like to be a rabbit?_ He asked it.

 _Oh, getting back to moving around again has been quite fine, thank you,_ it responded. Well, not really. It, of course, couldn't form proper words. Nevertheless, this and the following are the impressions Harry received from it.

 _You like moving? Well rabbits can move quite fast you know,_ Harry offered.

 _It's not very much like being metal though, is it? I'm afraid I shan't like it,_ it said.

 _Don't you worry,_ Harry soothed, _you won't be a rabbit for very long, just long enough to give them a chas- er, give you a taste of the experience._

 _Oh, all right then, if you insist._

And so a new, tiny, furry life entered into the world. Its experience of life can best be described as a rapid progression from a brief sense of betrayal to flight fueled by unending terror to suddenly ended terror and a return to the experiences of the inanimate.

Harry, meanwhile, had made good his escape and spent the next half hour making it even gooder. He bolted up staircases wherever the opportunity struck, figuring that if he was moving as much weight as the dog, he would prefer to do it in a downward direction. He eagerly attacked the steps of a spiral staircase and was overjoyed to see a rickety staircase leading to a trapdoor. It clattered against the stone wall as he clambered up it. He reached the top and hastily pulled the ladder up after him.

He was just considering how to convince the trapdoor to turn into something that would not allow passage to anyone else ever when he was interrupted by various body parts of his letting him know, in no uncertain terms, that he was quite incapable of performing the type of athletics he had just performed.

He promptly collapsed onto the ground and took in great heaving breaths.

After a few minutes, Harry recovered enough to get up. He then noticed that he had interrupted a class in session. Students were eyeing him with open curiosity, while the professor regarded him evenly. She was tall and thin and wore layers of thin lace like a mottled onion. She was a little like Mum Magrat. Aside from the headmaster being Afraid, this seemed like a great place for an aspiring witch to find himself.

"Have you foreseen danger with your inner eye?" she asked.

Harry spent a moment considering which of his two eyes was the 'inner,' before realizing that the point was moot, since he saw the danger quite clearly with both eyes.

"Actually, it was only three sets of sharp, chompy danger attached to a big black dog," said Harry.

"Ah, I believe I know of the danger of which you speak," she said ethereally. "I have cast my vision into the future and seen that that safeguards put in place will be sufficient."

Harry nodded, giving a satisfied glance to his purloined ladder. He wouldn't have to destroy it after all, he'd just have to find satisfactory living arrangements in this room and leave the rest of the castle to the dog.

"It may be that it poses a threat to you personally," said the woman, "in which case your own inner eye would offer the truest sight."

The metaphorical rug was pulled out from Harry's feet so suddenly that he checked to make sure the actual floor was still there to keep him safe from the dangers lurking below.

"Um, is there a way to check?" Harry asked. He tried closing one eye and then the other, but failed to find a truest sight.

"There are many," she said, "but perhaps we should begin with a glance into the mists of the crystal ball."

She led him to the front of the room where one stood on a pedestal. Harry gazed into it straight away, looking for the dog, and hoping he wouldn't find it. Instead, he got an impression of three dark figures hunched over their own crystal ball, inside of which was a smaller figure gazing into its own crystal ball. As he kept looking a loud ringing filled his ears and grew louder, shaking his brain within his head. For the second time, he collapsed onto the floor.

"What terrible fate did you behold, child?" a voice shrieked into his ear.

"Ah! Shh! Ringing, head hurts so much!" he responded, "what happened?"

"Oh," the voice came in much softer, "something similar has happened to m- to my more troublesome students before. Tell me, did you drink much last night?"

"Yes," said Harry, "loads. Madam Pomfrey insisted."

"I would not think that she would choose revel with one so young," said the witch, "however it would be unfair of me to expect the other faculty to live up to my standards of straight-laced professionalism."

Harry nodded. She certainly had the lace market cornered.

"Perhaps we should try another method," she offered.

Harry said "yes" instead of nodding. Nodding had aggravated his headache a moment ago.

"Tea," said the laced witch commandingly.

Harry expected a cup to fly into her hand. In a manner of speaking, one did. It was just helped along by an obsequious student.

"Drink this," she said and proffered the cup to Harry.

He did.

The silence in the classroom became a bit more hushed.

"Ya didn't leave any leaves to read, bloke," one of them chimed, but he was hushed by his fellows.

"This one," began the professor, "has chosen to engage in a more difficult form of divination. Clearly, his ambition surpasses that of any in this class. He has internalized his destiny. The flow of the portentous liquid into his magical core has left impressions of his fate for him to unravel. Tell me, child, what echoes has imbibing this draught left on your soul."

Harry was pretty sure she had just cast several spells and also asked how the tea was.

"It was hot, ma'am," he said, "and bitter."

"Such shall be your fate, young one," she said. "Expect fiery trials and an aftermath that does not please you. Perhaps death by immolation. Perhaps you will escape that and only experience lifelong injury by immolation. Time shall tell. Now be off, and go bravely to your destiny."

Harry readied himself to leave, before he remembered what he thought he was here for.

"Did I pass, ma'am?" he asked.

"You have not yet," she said, "but alas, you may very soon."

Harry hoped she passed him before the end of the day.

He reluctantly put the ladder back and climbed out of the safe haven. Going into a castle prowled by a giant three-headed dog was dangerous, but less so than ignoring the direct command of a witch.

At least, it was while you could see the witch and couldn't see the dog.

He wasn't going to be unprepared, though. He took the ladder with him, after all, who knew what other safe havens it would give him access too.

He also took the time to try to convince the various objects adorning the halls to become rabbits. He had particular luck with some woolen tapestries that were partly made from spun rabbits' wool.

One of them kept saying "hair" whenever he said "rabbit" but he chose to attribute that interaction to the impossibility of true conversation with the inanimate.

He had different luck with a suit of armor.

' _I'd rather not be a rabbit, thank you,'_ it "said."

' _Oh, there's no harm in it, it's not like there's a giant three-headed dog prowling the corridors that would chase recently rabbitted rabbits,' Harry convincingly communicated._

' _That is good. Were there such a dog, it would constitute a danger to the students and I would be duty bound to not only remain a statue, but hunt it down.'_

' _Oh. Well, it turns out that there is such a dog. I saw it last in a locked room with a trapdoor in it, but I left the door open when I ran away, so it's probably somewhere else by now.'_

' _Hm, I guess I'll check that room last then,'_ the armor "said" before clunkily stepping out of its niche and marching down the hallway.

Harry felt just a bit safer now and entered the first open door he saw.

He wasn't feeling all the way safe, though, so he closed the door behind him and barred it from opening by propping his new ladder against it.

"Mi-mi-mister P-p-p-p-potter," said weak voice, "r-r-r-r-ight on t-t-time."

The voice belonged to an equally weak looking figure dressed in a stylish looking purple turban. It threw Harry off. It didn't have a brim, so it wasn't a witch's hat, but it also didn't conform to his expectations of a wizard's hat. It was also a lovely shade of purple.

"Actually," said Harry, "it's Evans-Garlick-Ogg-Potter-Weatherwax."

A flash of something crossed the professor's face before he returned to his simpering self.

"O-o-of c-course, mi-mister Ev-ev-evans-"

"You can-"

"Ga-ga-ga-garlick-O-o-o-ogg-"

"Just call me-"

"P-p-p-p-potter-Wea-wea-wea-weatherwa-wa-wa-wax."

"Harry."

"Ve-very well, Ha-harry," he said, "are y-you r-ready for your as-as-assessment?"

"I don't know," Harry responded with candor.

"N-not co-confident in de-defense a-a-a-against the da-dark ah-ah-arts?" he asked.

Harry's mind flashed to the black cloak with black lace frills he coveted in the robe store. It was just like wizards to teach impressionable witches to defend themselves from their perfectly natural desires for such things. Harry decided to take a risk with being honest as the man didn't seem to be a normal wizard.

"To be honest," said Harry, "I'm much more interested in the dark arts themselves."

The man gave him an impenetrable look.

"Perhaps private lessons could be arranged," he said.

"That would be great!" said Harry. Visions of fine embroidery, patches for holes, and neat stitching came before his mind's eye. All of it was black of course.

Actually, that reminded him.

"What about your turban?" Harry asked.

"What about my," he paused, "t-t-t-turban?"

"Well, it's certainly dark-ish," said Harry, "but I wouldn't say it's outright black, so I'm not sure if it qualifies as being a dark art."

There was a long pause.

"M-m-my t-turban c-c-c-certainly d-does n-not bel-l-l-long to t-the d-dark a-a-arts."

"Oh," said Harry. He felt that he was suddenly cut off from a future that incorporated purple accents on his black robes.

"Should we start the assessment, then?" Harry asked. He was rather eager to get on with things since his headache from the crystal ball had only gotten worse, and he was a bit sore about losing out on purple.

"G-given, the si-si-situation," said the man whose turban wasn't dark enough to be a dark art, "it m-m-might be wi-wiser to f-f-f-fail you ou-outright a-and use th-that as a pre-pre-pretense f-for our pri-private les-les-lessons."

"Ok," said Harry, "bye then."

He collected his ladder, opened the door and left.

He moped around the halls for a bit before encountering his greatest enemy.

"How are you doing this fine day, Harry," the wizard asked.

"Afraid," Harry skipped the pleasantries as he bit out the wizard's name.

"Why, what of, my boy," he asked.

"I didn't say anything about an 'of,'" said Harry.

The wizard opened his mouth to reply before thinking better of it.

"Did you complete your placement tests for potions, transfiguration, charms, astronomy, herbology, history of magic, and defense against the dark arts?" he asked.

"Of course," said Harry.

"Well then," Afraid said, "let us gather the heads of house and see to one final bit of ceremony."

Ethereal copies of Wossname sprang from his wand and headed off in different directions.

Harry quickly fell behind Afraid's long strides, not that he was trying all that hard to remain close to the wizard. His eyes fell on a staircase with another perfect bannister for sliding. He took his chance to restore his mood and enjoyed a thrilling ride that didn't even end in a crash.

Well, he did find himself suddenly bracing himself against a stone gargoyle, but it didn't involve enough spinning or falling to meet Harry's definition of a crash.

"You're early," the gargoyle said in a gravelly voice.

Harry almost responded before doing a double take and realizing that it had talked out loud in real words.

"Er, hello," said Harry, "would you like to be a rabbit for a bit? I promise it won't be dangerous at all and almost certainly won't lead to your untimely death."

"What? No," it responded.

"Are you sure?" pressed Harry, "Life's a lot lighter as a rabbit. Hardly takes any energy to bounce about and frolic all about the place. Tell me, when was the last time you frolicked?"

"I have a job to do," it rumbled.

"See!" said Harry. "That's exactly the sort of thing I'm talking about. When was the last time you took a day off from your job."

"Never," admitted the gargoyle.

"Well then," said Harry, "you're far overdue for one."

"I suppose you have a point," it said, "but how can I leave when my master expects me to guard this door?"

"Don't worry about that," said Harry, "I'll take care of it."

"Thank you," said the gargoyle.

Before it could say or think more, Harry transformed it into a rabbit. It squeaked and hopped in a pattern that Harry took to mean 'where's the lunchroom?'

Harry pointed at a random staircase. The rabbit wiggled its tail and Harry saw it as meaning 'thanks, see you in half an hour.'

Harry entered the previously guarded door and closed it behind him. Being a person who occasionally considered himself a man of his word, Harry used his ladder to bar the door. He chose not to consider the self-serving possibility of denying entry to an oversized, overskulled dog.

Harry failed to realize that he had been up this spiral staircase before until he was nearly at the top of it. So far, refusing to take direction and familiarity into account had served him well in this castle. The door at the top of the staircase hesitated for just a moment before opening for him.

He immediately focused on the most important resident of the room. He ran forward and ignored an indignant squawk as he hugged Wossname to his chest.

"I've missed you," Harry said.

Wossname chirped cheerily, but also wiggled out of Harry's arms and onto his shoulder. Harry reveled in the literal and figurative warmth for a moment before noticing something else.

Sat in the exact middle of Afraid's enormous desk was a hat. It was made of dark leather aged to the point of being ancient. Numerous lines crisscrossed it where rips had been sewn together and it had an expansive floppy brim.

It was perfect.

Harry immediately snatched it up and plopped it on his head.

' _So you're the one they want sorted, eh?'_ a voice sounded in his head. It was confusing because it wasn't as confusing as usual. It took Harry a moment to realize that it was because the voice was picking its own words instead of relying on Harry's brain to pick the words for it.

' _Well, it's no good anyway,_ ' it said ' _I'm the sorting hat and I only sort once a year during the sorting ceremony. I don't do house calls for students transferring in willy-nilly. Why, next thing you know they'll be wanting to lend me out to do concerts during the school year. Well I say 'no.' One song, one ceremony, one sorting, one sorting hat.'_

"Oh, you're the hat," said Harry.

' _A bit daft are you?'_ asked the hat.

"I see you have begun without us," Harry startled as he heard Afraid's voice.

"I'm not doing it! You can't make me!" said the hat, aloud this time.

Harry's excitement at finding the perfect hat had swelled like a balloon; the slowly dawning realization that keeping it might not be so simple entered his mind like a sharp needle.

' _That's… actually quite flattering, thank you,'_ said the hat. ' _Also, I'd advise having your head looked at. Things really aren't quite right for you up here.'_

"Come now… Hat," said Afraid, "I'm sure we can work something out that is amenable to all parties."

"Wait," said Harry, "do you really not know its name?"

' _What is your name, by the way?'_ asked Harry mentally.

"No, no, of course not," said Afraid. "It's name is 'Hat.'"

"Really?" asked Harry, both out loud and in loud.

' _I'm afraid so,'_ said Hat, ' _Godric wasn't the most imaginative of fellows. Of course the current headmaster hasn't ever explicitly confirmed my name by asking.'_

' _Well, you'd better make up a name,'_ said Harry, ' _we've got a point to prove.'_

"Although I have not ever asked it," said Afraid, "it has always been called 'Hat.'"

' _Hmm, this is a big decision, give me a moment,'_ said Hat.

"His name is 'Hair,'" said Harry.

"Like a rabbit," asked Afraid.

"I don't know," said Harry, "do you know any rabbits named 'Hair?'"

"I-" Afraid sighed.

"Why is he wearing that?!" interrupted the best male witch Harry had ever beheld as he charged into the room with an impressive swirling of robes.

"He's being sorted, of course," - "Why is it any business of yours who wears me?" - "It's a great hat!" three voices replied at once.

The dark haired professor took advantage of the temporary confusion and produced a familiar looking vial from his robes.

"For his assessment he made _this_ ," he said, "when he was supposed to make a calming potion. The instructions were clearly written on the board and ingredients were readily available."

"Who made tea?" a sizable witch bustled into the office, "it smells delicious."

She took the vial from the potions professor's hand and took a long draught. He looked like he wished he had had the forethought to slip some poison in it.

"Ah, haven't had a spot that good for a while yet," she said, "and you said Harry here brewed it from ingredients he prepared himself? I suppose that'll do enough to give him a pass on his herbology assessment."

She winked at Harry as she finished.

She was full of life and didn't seem to give much mind to what others might make of her, which put Harry in mind of his nanny Ogg. Harry had largely positive interactions with her, but avoided her all the same. It was her familiar, the eternal, corpulent, ever violent Greebo that he had come to fear with all his heart.

Harry was immediately on alert for any cats prowling about, but found only that the stern witch with the match had entered.

"Mr. Evans-Garlick-Ogg-Potter-Weatherwax passed my assessment," she said.

"Mine too," the previously unnoticed short wizard squeaked, "and wandlessly at that!"

"I figured that would be the case," said the really stern one-

' _You really should try to learn their names; that'll clear up at least a little of the clutter in this mind of yours,'_ said Hat.

"- since he forgot something of import in my classroom," she finished.

' _You could just tell me their names,'_ Harry pointed out.

' _I could,'_ said Hat, ' _also they're rather expecting you to be embarrassed about leaving your wand lying about._ '

"Oh yes," said Harry, "my wand! I, er, really want that incredibly dangerous object on my person at all times because that's how wizards feel and I am definitely a wizard."

' _Very convincing,'_ said Hat.

"Well, I can see that no one here is willing to listen to reason," said the one with the still-billowing cloak, "let's get this imbecile sorted so I can return to my quarters."

"Unfortunately," said Afraid, "the sorting hat is feeling out of sorts and will not sort until it gets sorted out."

Harry, for just a moment, felt a great deal of affection for the old wizard.

"Sort of," admitted Hat, "there's also the boy to consider. He hasn't got any- er- I mean to say that he's got about an equal amount of the qualities that the four houses value. I think I may get a better idea of what house he belongs in if I stick around him for a bit."

"I suppose then," said Afraid, "that, for the meantime, Hare will remain on this head."

Harry wondered if, perhaps, Afraid was another witch like him who had just gotten really good at pretending to be a wizard. Maybe he was so good that he forgot that he was really a witch. Harry shuddered at the possibility and recommitted himself to staying true to his roots.

"Why don't you just sort me into the castle?" Harry asked. "I'd much rather stay here than in any old house." He reached down and patted at the floor. "It's a fantastic castle." He felt something like a mental purr.

None of the collected professors seemed to have an answer to that.


End file.
